


Dogs Don't Walk

by p_totel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Gore, Graphic Description, M/M, Master/Pet, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28344435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel
Summary: for secret satan 2020! Merry Satanmas, VW. 😚Prompt: Theon gets made to wear some torture clothing. TW for a lot of graphic violence. Whoops.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41
Collections: Thramsay Secret Satan 2020





	Dogs Don't Walk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VagrantWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/gifts).



Theon tried to run total three times.  
Well, it wasn't exactly Theon who tried; maybe the first time, sure. And then a different Theon tried to escape, half-mad, and then, the last time, a man barely able to even call himself Theon tried - one last struggle of a fish thrown on the land before it stops thrashing around.

And all three times, he was caught.  
First time he was foolish enough to trust his very own captor who offered to help him. Second time he was naive, underestimating the man who kept him, and he grabbed some bread from the kitchens, tied a sheet around it, and set on a journey through snow. It lasted about a day before he was caught, and Lord Ramsay seemed incredibly pleased with such little game.

And third time, it was sheer desperation that made him run. Hell, dying seemed like a such better option compared to living like this, among dogs. Dogs may be better than the dungeon, but humiliation of being leashed as one cut deeper than any sword he had ever seen.

Maybe he ran because he hoped Ramsay would finally get fucking bored of him and just kill him.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

"Reek, Reek, Reek." Ramsay sighed as he hit him with a boot.   
Theon gasped, sprawled on the snow, like a mocking sight of a squid held on ice on a fish market. It was sad, in a way. Cold slush around him made his skin burn. Sky above him was milk-colored, soft and white, with tint of greys and browns... Ramsay's hounds howled behind their master.

"What am I going to do with you?" Ramsay exhaled. "I gave you everything. I gave you clothes. I gave you a place with my dogs." the young man crossed arms on his back and longingly looked at the sky, "Yet you continue to betray me."

Theon still wheezed from the aftermath of chase through the woods, the snow threatening to seriously bite off his fingers - or what was left of them, whatever, which seemed to be less and less each day.

"Just kill me." he whispered in hoarse voice. "Please."

Ramsay stared at him, his lips puckered. He seemed to mull something over in his head for a bit, but gave up on the thought, and simply crouched down to softly pet Theon's hair.  
"Oh. I can't do that. I never kill my dogs, no matter how tough to train they are." a soft grin crept up on his face.

"I'm no dog." Theon tried, with the last ounce of strength he could, his chest red from   
the cruel cold. It's gotten so thin since the bastard had starved him like a common prisoner, and not someone of noble blood.

"Ha." Ramsay snorted, visibly amused. He got up, a playful smile dancing on his lips and tapped his knees. "Now, Reek, be a good dog and _come here._ "

"No." Theon's voice shivered. He tried to sound tough, really, but all he begged for was death. Final goddamn death. Anything was better than that madman in front of him.

"If you do it quickly, without much argument, I won't hurt you nearly as much as I will if you don't haul your ass here within three seconds." Ramsay's face suddenly went completely serious. The joke was over.  
Old Theon wanted to be tough and brave and disobey, future Theon wanted to drag himself forward the same second, and the present Theon found himself between those two emotions. He twitched, insecure, and then finally got up on his wobbly knees.

"No." Ramsay stopped him. "On all fours. Like a dog. Like a wretched dog you are."

"I am no dog." Theon blurted out. "I can be a prisoner but- but a-."

"Aren't you? And what's the difference between you and a dog? What do you have that a _dog_ doesn't? Except for loyalty. Which we will have to train into you." Ramsay licked his lips, his eyes just a sharp icicle.

Theon stared at him for a few seconds and then rose his head. "Dignity."

His master stared at him speechless for a few seconds and Theon thought the man will surely jump froward and throttle him, but suddenly - the blank face - spread into a huge grin. The Bastard started laughing with full lungs, a genuine laughter. Trees shook as it got louder and louder.  
It took him a while before he settled down.

"Darling..." Bolton wiped the tears from his eyes, "you didn't have dignity even before I threw you into kennels."  
***

Obviously Theon was tossed into the dungeon like some really ugly mop which was of no use to anyone anymore - not even important enough to scrub the latrines. And he was not thrown in gently. Ramsay left him to his horrid men to toss him there, which the pair did with genuine enjoyment, making sure to smash Theon against the walls as much as possible and push him down the basement stairs. They laughed as he made hilarious sounds of his bones clackering against the stone.

 _Dignity,_ he sourly thought, _well Theon, where was your dignity when you burnt those boys alive? Or when you betrayed your best friend? What dignity do you even have anymore?_

He was chained once again and reminded of the cruelty of that terrible place. Dungeons. The worst thing Ramsay has ever done to him. Except for flaying.  
Dungeons - lonely, cold, with mold growing on the edges which made him shudder in disgust. It almost started growing on him as well, and considering all the filth he'd accumulated, it wouldn't be surprising if it did.

It didn't take long for the Bastard to descend down the stairs. He kept joyfully whistling as he walked, a sound grating to Theon's ears. He hated how all this made that man _happy_. If at least he was angry, or lashing out, or anything - except for _smiling_ like it's some ugly joke Theon isn't let on in.  
He hated remembering the past Theon too; not because Ramsay made him forget his name, but because he could recognize his _own_ wicked smile he wore in front of Lady Catelyn years ago.

Ramsay bursted in the cell with a loud smash of the door and Theon coughed, barely lifting his head up. His throat hurt like hell from freezing chill - well, partially from the cold, partially from screaming and begging as he was hauled back to Dreadfort.

"Let me die." he immediately whined when Ramsay set his foot on the cellar floor. "Let me die like a man."

Ramsay stared at him for a few seconds and then simply waved his hand. "Like a man." he repeated. "Nah." he pulled out an apple from his pocket and started chewing on it, pensively. "Nah, Reek. You're not a man anyway. You lack the... necessary parts."

Bastard finally stopped in front one of the walls and crossed his hands, looking at the ceiling. "I'm not going to kill you." he walked forward and Theon tried to draw in himself - he really _did_ but - it was impossible to escape. To escape _anywhere_.

"I am many things, indeed. But most of all: I am incredibly resiliant. And... while not the most patient man on this Earth, sure, for my animals - I am." he grabbed Theon's jaw and forced him to look at his icy eyes.

"But you don't want to be an animal." Ramsay let him go and jumped back up. "No. You want to be a man."

 _Most of all I want to be dead,_ Theon miserably thought, _preferably in the Drowned Hall, with ten thousand mermaids sucking my dick_.

He was suddenly unceremoniously hit in face with a flying rag. When he opened it, he noticed it wasn't a rag - not like ones he was given - no. It was a shirt. A whole shirt. He wanted to cry from happiness.  
How low did he stoop down to, to be happy with a shirt?

Memories of his nice closet pitifully ran through his mind, but whatever, that was some old, past life.

"Get dressed. Let's see how well you fare among humans." Ramsay yawned and continued eating. Theon rushed to put the shirt on, and suddenly - another thing fell in front of him. A loaf of bread.

A fresh one.  
Not some stale and moldy bread - no.  
But beautifully baked loaf.  
Skin golden bronze like girls from Essos.  
He wanted to cry from happiness.

"Come on, hurry up. I have things to do." Ramsay cut him off and Theon grabbed the loaf and got up on his weak feet. He limped forward.  
Ramsay put out a pair of boots.

 _A pair of boots_.

Past Theon wanted to scream at the Present Theon's pitiful grattitude, Future Theon wept and mourned Present Theon's naivety.

He hastily grabbed them to put his feet into it, almost weeping from joy - no more frostbites, no more tingling of snow biting at his soles, no more-

He screamed.

He screamed loud enough for the stone to almost crack.

"What's the matter, Reek?" Ramsay's voice was cold.

The inside of the boot was lined with needles. With wide, sharp needles, and when Theon stopped on them - not even bothering to think, to think about Bastard's vicious games, overcome with naive hope -  
His right foot got drilled in hundred little places.  
He felt them pierce the skin and the flesh beneath it, the pain soaring through his nerves.

He grabbed on the wall and tried to steady himself, to pull out the foot, but Ramsay was faster and he cruelly pushed down on Theon's shoulder.  
His foot fell all the way through, and the spikes comfortably drilled in.

This time Theon screamed even louder as he started to thrash against his Master's firm hold.  
"No- no- no please - please- no-!" he hoarsely gasped through tears. His entire body tensed, along with the veins of the foot, clenching around the unfortunate nails.

"And now the other one, Reek."

The left foot went down even worse than the right one - Theon had to move his full weight on his mauled leg to put the other one in the shoe, and then switch again - and pain didn't stop for a second.  
There was only white flash of agonizing burn dancing in front of his eyes...  
but nothing could prepare him for the following.

Once he finally settled in the shoes, Bastard called him over with his finger.

"Well, Reek, let's get going. As you said, I could use a man at my side. A servant, if nothing else."

"Ple-" Theon grabbed on the wall, tears freely falling from his eyes now.  
"For every please you say, I will make you wear them an hour longer. How's that sound?" Ramsay cut him off immediately.

All poor Greyjoy could do was nod through the sobs escaping his chest.

"Alright. Let's go. Try to keep up."

\---  
Theon never knew pain like this was possible. Pain of spikes drilling through his flesh and changing it in unfamiliar ways - something humans should never experience - each time he stepped on them. They kept sliding out the flesh and then back into it.  
It was unbearable.

The worst thing might've been the sound.  
As he walked, the blood gushed - and with each stab, the thin tip leading way to the wider post of the nails kept shifting just slightly through the meat. And each time, it would get softer as the mince worked tirelessly through it.  
The blood and the mush kept mixing and soon, Theon was dragging his feet with a 'flap, flap, flap' sound. Even pain resided and all he felt was soft pulp of his own tissue.

He thought he would barf on more than one occassion. From pain. From disgust. From hot and cold tingles up his back. He kept swaying, feeling ill and drunk.

He had no way of telling what time of the day it was. He was too occupied with his misfortune to follow Ramsay's duties or lights out the Dreadfort barely-existing windows.

He only realized it was night when Ramsay finally sat to have dinner.  
He was left to stand next to his chair while a serving girl put the plates on the table.  
When she finally left, leaving the two in the intimacy of the room, Ramsay finally spoke.

"I must admit I am impressed, Reek." The Bastard yawned and tied a napkin around his neck, before reaching out for food in front of him. "You make for an excellent servant. You kept up pretty well." he took a huge bite out of it.

The view was distorted for Theon; the exhaustion finally did it's due and settled in his shoulders and bones. For the past half an hour his eyes kept closing out of their own volition, barely keeping open and their owner standing. The feet checked out long time ago and they stood only out of preservance.

"Ouch. This is dry." Ramsay coughed and snapped his fingers. "Go get me some wine, Reek. I mean, we have to get this finished and going. You have a tough day ahead of yourself tomorrow."

Theon was hit with horrified sweat. Tomorrow?  
Like this? In these shoes?  
He wanted to scream.

Apparently, he took too long because Ramsay clapped, waking him out of his sullen state. "Well?"

Theon moved his knees to the side, but as he lift up one leg to step on it -  
he dropped down. Like a fainting lady.  
It was enough.  
He couldn't.  
He couldn't anymore.

Ramsay pursed his lips and peeked his head from above the table.

"Are you tired, Reek? Get up."

Theon tried to push himself back on his feet, but he couldn't even lean on his arms. The strength had given out.

"I can't." he whispered. "I can't, m'lord. I can't. I-."

"Well, you still have to get to the servant's quarters, don't you?" the voice was sharp but amused.

And then, Theon realized what the game here really was.  
 _Dignity._

"Please." he coughed out. "I- please- take them off."  
He hoped he wouldn't have to actually see the effects of the horrid invention. He was sure it looked like something out of a perverse horror story. Or a sausage filling.

"Oh. No. You need them to walk." Ramsay casually put another piece of meat in his mouth and started chewing.

"I can't. I can't- I can't walk anymore." Theon sobbed. Whatever little recognition of his status he had; was lost. Nobody was coming to help him and nobody was going to treat him like a human being; let alone a man.

"Well. Then - what _can_ you do?" the question from Bastard's mouth was victorious.

"Crawl. I can crawl." Theon whispered and finally pushed himself on his knees. It took a bit, but he managed to drag himself towards the Master's feet. He pushed his head on the thigh, like one of his girls, good and loyal girls.

And then Ramsay lowered his big hand down, and Reek licked it in gratitutde.


End file.
